


This Fucked Up Love of Ours

by SpicyRedPaladin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Fuck man I just had to post it, Fucked up notions of love, Grotesque Imagery, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Not A Happy Ending, Uh fuck like idk man, can't tell a memory you love it adam, cause my friend is angry that i haven't yet, lance is allergic to flowers, so here it is, times two, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 02:24:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20827850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyRedPaladin/pseuds/SpicyRedPaladin
Summary: Lance loves someone. He just... really can't deal with hanahaki. Adam loves someone. He's just... dead.





	This Fucked Up Love of Ours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GeekMom13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekMom13/gifts).

> so this was originally for the hanahaki bang but some shit happened so bada bing bada bang here's some fucking hard shit -dab-
> 
> i had it betad by FandomsEverywhereUnited and forgot to actually do the changes soooooo yeah lol enjoy it i suppose

It started innocently enough. A scratchy throat and a raspy cough. Just normal allergies for Lance, who had grimaced and taken his allergy medication. There had been a lot of people toting flowers from their parents around the Garrison lately, with little regard to the fact that  _ some _ of their classmates had very serious pollen allergies.

It was the strangest thing, though. No flowers were even around when he noticed the scratch for the first time. He was mostly alone, really. Not completely, of course, since he was in a tutoring session with Instructor Weichart. His tutor had leaned closer to help Lance with a harder problem when the tickle started bothering him, and he’d had to pull away to raise his arm and cough into it.

Instructor Weichart knew, of course, about Lance’s allergies. All of the instructors at the Galaxy Garrison knew, and were supposed to make sure that there weren’t any flowers around. Most of them didn’t really care, but Instructor Weichart got up and walked around the library while Lance had waited patiently to find out if he needed to take his medicine or if it was just a fluke. When he came back, the cadet had smiled and thanked him, and they’d gotten back to work.

After that, the scratches and tickles started becoming more noticeable. And honestly, Lance sometimes thanked the fits of coughing he’d go into. They always seem to come at the best times, shaking Lance from stupid daydreams and fantasies that he knew he shouldn't put any stock into. He was there to become a fighter pilot, not fawn over his teachers, especially ones that were just trying to be nice and do their jobs.

Hunk started noticing after a month or so, patting on Lance’s back with his large hand and trying to help dislodge whatever it was that had gotten stuck in his friend’s throat. That’s what they’d decided it was, because Lance could feel something sitting there in his lungs and throat, making him gag and wheeze and cough all day. Spring was in full swing and he’d been taking his medicine, so ‘flowers’ wasn’t high on his list of possibilities.

Even Pidge noticed, as the moderate spring began to give way to more summery climes. Their reclusive Comms Officer in-training would look over with a worried expression whenever Lance would let out a particularly raucous round of coughs. He even asked if Lance had taken his medicine. It was touching, honestly, especially since they didn’t talk much.

All the while through their worry, Instructor Weichart was there, helping Lance with his homework and giving him pats on the back when he went into a coughing fit. He mentioned several times that Lance should probably see the onsite medical facility, just in case. After all, anything too severe could ruin his chances of graduating from the Garrison all together. Lance, however, persevered, citing that it was probably just a higher than usual pollen count, even though everyone knew that most pollen didn’t stand a chance at migrating all the way out to the secluded Garrison.

The real kicker didn’t come for quite some time. It was early summer, and Lance’s class had been subjected to laps. Again. For something arbitrary, as usual. Well, if you called Pidge’s back-talking arbitrary. Honestly, he was a spitfire. Especially whenever Iverson mentioned the failed Kerberos mission. It was all Lance could do to keep Pidge from getting their entire team expelled, so laps for the class was a blessing in disguise. Or, it would be if he wasn’t still fighting whatever had settled in his lungs. He could feel it, now, like a little ball somewhere around the middle of his left lung. The pain there was sharp, and radiated out with about a one inch diameter. If it was something serious like cancer, he knew that it was probably going to be a race to take care of it, and, even with only one year of schooling left, he knew it was better to take care of now, rather than later.

By the end of the laps, Lance had made up his mind. His lungs were screaming and he needed to get to the infirmary. But, tomorrow. He was already late for a tutoring session with Instructor Weichart, after all. Lance’s heart fluttered when he imagined his tutor praising him for finally getting his respiratory problem checked. With that flutter, though, came a horrid wrenching in his lungs. The cadet dropped to his knees as the class was starting to file out the door. Hunk and Pidge both dropped beside him, though neither really knew what to do as Lance started coughing and gripping his throat.

The students still in the room paused, turning to watch as Lance struggled. He’d stopped coughing, no air passing through his throat as he well and truly began to choke. He could feel something in his throat, like a soft film coating the delicate inner walls. Hunk’s hand fell hard against his friends back, trying to help knock loose whatever was causing Lance to choke like this. The other students just continued to stare, as if trapped under some sort of spell.

_ One hit. _

_ Two hits. _

_ Three hits. _

_ Four.  _

Finally, and not without a ripping pain in his lungs and throat, Lance hacked something out onto the pristine Garrison floor. A little murmur went through the class at the sight of red and orange against grey steel. Finally, James broke the tension with a sneer.

“Flowers? Seriously, McClain, you’re overreacting over a little bit of Hanahaki? How pathetic. You’re not even that far along.”

Lance didn’t hear him, though. He was staring in abject horror at the scraps of bloody, orange petal that sat before him. Hanahaki.  _ He _ , of all people, had  _ Hanahaki _ , of all things. The film in his throat was a coat of flower petals, the pain in his chest a seed of some flower that had been feeding on his feelings for someone.  _ Who even was it? _

Another pain stabbed through Lance’s chest and he lurched, gagging and choking again. He lifted his hands to his throat once more, hot tears beginning to fall down his cheeks. It  _ hurt _ . Why wouldn’t it stop? Lance barely even noticed the pain as his nails started to dig into his throat, reaching desperately for his airway. He had to get the flowers out, had to remove the seeds and the petals and the pollen before he suffocated. Someone screamed, but he didn’t hear them. He was too preoccupied with digging, searching for the relief he thought would come with the removal of his affliction.

Another sharp pain lashed through Lance as he was suddenly scooped up from the ground, and his fingers came away wet. He heard a voice, strong and familiar, somewhere in the haze of his mind.  _ Adam. _ His hands went limp as he felt himself being carried. This was okay. It was all going to be alright now. Adam was here; Adam would figure out what to do. Adam would make the flowers go away.

LanceThe teen seized as more pain ripped through his lungs. Something wrapped tightly around his throat, and Lance lifted his hand to feel fabric, though it was wet where it touched him. Was that his fault? He looked up at Adam, the hallway moving around them fast enough that Lance knew his tutor must be running, and was surprised to see tears on the older man's face, dripping down his cheeks and threatening to fall onto Lance.

Did he know he was crying? Lance reached up slowly, running a hand over Adam’s face. He was determined to wipe away the tears, but only left a red streak where he touched. The man looked down with sad eyes, hushing him and reassuring Lance that everything would be okay. As Adam spoke, the realization finally dawned on him.

Lance was, irrevocably, wholly, and completely smitten with Adam. It made sense now, the way his heart fluttered when Adam was kind to him and the way his chest tightened when he thought about spending time together. To think that someone so wonderful could be a contributor to Lance feeling so, well, shitty.

The pair finally made it to the medical wing, doctors coming on either side of the pair to begin asking questions. One took Lance's limp arm, tying an identity cuff around it and making quick work of sterilizing his wrist for an IV. Adam laid Lance gently on the bed of the room they were led into, staying right by his student's side.

Even with black starting to creep at the edges of his vision, Lance smiled. He didn't have long if he wanted to give his teacher at least  _ some _ closure about what was happening. Sluggishly, Lance lifted a hand to his neck, knowing somewhere in the back of his fuzzy mind that it was leaking blood, sweeping his fingers through the mess before bringing them up to Adam's chest. HeThe man watched, still crying. His tears had made a clear path through the red Lance had accidentally smeared across his face. Slowly, the student moved his fingers, bloody and trembling, drawing on Adam's already ruined uniform.

As he finished, Lance's smile turned serene. He pressed one fingertip to Adam's heart, in the near center of his messy drawing. His hand fell, no longer possessing the strength to stay up. He vaguely felt Adam pulling him closer, warm and wet little spots falling onto his cheek from above. Someone said something close to his ear, but everything was foggy. It was like the warm arms around him and the broken sobs above his were a thousand miles away and he just couldn't get to them because he was so, so sleepy. Adam wouldn't mind if he took a little nap, right? He'd see him when he woke up…

###

Adam stared down at his hands as the doctor wrote what he'd said. The ticking of the clock kept him steady, reminded him that time was still moving. He'd never told anyone about how he'd felt as he carried his favorite student through the halls. As he'd carried Lance, a vibrant, happy boy, reduced to a trembling, bloody shell. He'd never told the way his heart broke as someone died in his arms, about the way Lance smiled as he closed his eyes. He never talked about how he couldn't bring himself to wash the blood out of his uniform or that he'd quit his position at the Garrison because he couldn't stand to see the places Lance's laughter had lit up, now dull and dark with the weight of his student's death.

The man's pen clicked and Adam looked up. The clock said they had five minutes left, but his skin itched and crawled with the ned to  _ get out. _ The therapist smiled his familiar sad smile and congratulated Adam for getting it all out and finally unburdening himself. He promised that things would get easier, but Adam knew it was a lie. Opening the old wounds would only make everything so very much worse.

As Adam stood to leave, a cough shook him. He quickly covered his mouth, holding up a hand when his therapist started to come closer and citing that he'd just caught a little cold. After quickly scheduling his next appointment, the man climbed into his car. The drive home was a blur, background noise to the pounding of his heart and the rasp of his coughs. Holding them in through his appointment had been torture. Finally, he parked in his driveway and rushed into the house, barely shutting the door before he was on his knees, both hands over his mouth as he coughed so hard his entire body shook with the vibrations.

Long minutes passed before the fit ended, and Adam's hands came away splattered with blood. Tears cut tracks through the blood that had splashed back onto his face as he stared at the petals amidst the mess in his hands. Carnation petals, the edges dyed a sticky brown from feeding on Adam's blood. It was poetic, honestly, in his mind. He killed Lance by not seeing the signs sooner, so it was only justice that he would die for loving him too late. If he had just opened himself up, he wouldn't have hurt the person who now meant most to him.

Adam slowly picked himself from the ground, forcing himself to go through the motions of cleaning off his hands and face and changing out of his bloody clothes. He sat quietly on the bed for several minutes before going to the closet and taking down his old Garrison uniform, stiff and smelling of nostalgia. The right arm and side were still crusted with Lance's blood, even two years later. Adam wasn't paying attention to the bits that flaked off onto his floor, though. His hand moved to the sloppy heart drawn over where his heart would rest inside the uniform.

Lance's confession was silent, but the doctors had said that Adam's accepting it had counted, that the seed had detached from Lance's left lung. If he the teen hadn't had such a serious allergy to flowers, he would've been able to cough it out. But, then again, if he hadn't been allergic, then none of this would've happened. Adam didn't blame any of this on Lance or his allergy, of course; that would be stupid. He only blamed himself for being blind to the obvious signs of Lance's attraction.

As he laid back against his bed, uniform spread over his chest and another coughing fit threatening to make itself heard, Adam let his eyes slip shut. Maybe the sleeping pills he'd taken when he was cleaning up would do their job, and he would sleep right on through the coughing. Maybe he would dream of blue eyes and infectious laughter. Maybe it wouldn't just be dreaming anymore. A soft sigh escaped Adam as he felt himself start to drift off, and he let a soft whisper fall from his lips into the room.

_ "Until we meet again, my love." _


End file.
